to the end of all time
by endlessly wandering
Summary: they say that nothing good ever happens after 2:00 AM. but she's your 2:00 AM and every moment in between. / Soda/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Just a tiny little one-shot for the lack of updating on Insanity. I'm really, really trying to get cracking down on that next chapter, but it's just not coming to me at all... maybe writing this will give me a boost.**

 **If you remember from the last chapter of Insanity, it was Soda-centered. This one-shot delves deeper into the relationship between Soda and Claudia. ~**

 **The title is taken from the song End of All Time by Stars of Track and Field. I recommend listening to the song as you read this; it helps!**

* * *

 **This is how it should start.**

There's a boy and there's a girl. Carefree boy, timid girl; both madly in love.

In retrospect, it's simple. It's all black and white, with little flashes and specks of color in between as they fill every crack and space in with excitement; sadness; worry; regret.

It's oh, so simple - that's how it should be.

 **.**

For the longest time, you sit there and look at her. You don't move; you don't blink; you don't even breathe - you just sit there and look at her.

Her chestnut brown hair drapes itself along your collarbone as she lays on your chest. She's wearing nothing but one of your old t-shirts; her bra and underwear - two things that you'd rather have on than off - lay on the ground, as do your own jeans.

You didn't have sex; that much is clear. You allowed her to undress and get into one of your old shirts that you gave her, yes. You allowed yourself, even, to go down to your boxers and shirt but nothing more.

But you didn't have sex.

She's asleep by the movement her body makes; her breathing is slow and peaceful, no words on her lips. Your right hand rests lightly on her waist while your left in behind your head, scratching the back of your neck to pass the time. The skin is probably raw and it aches, but you don't care.

Finally, you realize that it's half past two in the morning and you were supposed to be home by midnight.

You don't realize you've cursed loud enough until she stirs, moves her head from your chest and turns on her other side to look at you.

"Soda? What're you doing?"

"I need to go," you say quickly, fumbling around in the darkness for your jeans. After stubbing your toe on at least five things and slamming your body into another four, you find them and stuff your legs inside. "I really, really need to go."

"You could stay," she hums, clearly on the edge of sinking back into her exhaustion, "if you like."

"I can't. Bye, Claudia."

Oh, but you wish you could.

 **. .**

Darry's pissed at you the next morning, just as you knew he'd be. You knew he'd blow up in your face the moment you came out of that bedroom door at 3:00 in the afternoon.

But you did it anyway, because being yelled at by Darry was better than the slap Pops would give you way back when if you did something this bad.

"Where the hell were you, Soda?" Darry demands as he stands directly in front of you. "Where'd you go last night?"

You don't answer; you won't give him the satisfaction of knowing you were out with Claudia again. You instead focus on the vein that's popping out of Darry's neck as he yells and gets even more frustrated with you.

"Were you out with her again?" he pesters and you flinch. A smirk dances on his lips as he says, "You were. Soda, how many times do I have to -"

"I know, Dar!" you counter, rising to your own feet and storming out of the kitchen. He follows you, to which you only get more riled up and angry. "I know that I'm not supposed to be out with her late like that; it won't happen again."

"You said that last time," Darry hisses as you turn back and face him. "You've said that the entire time, Soda, and you never come home before midnight!"

"Time flies when you're in love," you say sarcastically.

"Bullshit." Darry replies hastily. He clenches and unclenches his fists, as if he's trying hard not to come over here and sock you right in the mouth right now.

The argument goes on pause as the front door opens and Ponyboy steps inside, his backpack strapped to his back. You and Darry share one last cold glare before you're out of the house, slamming the door behind you and lighting a cigarette; the only form of drugs you'll ever submit to.

A thick ring of smoke cascades around your lips, and it reminds you of her scent - lavender and bar smoke.

 **. . .**

It's not long before you move out. You pack your stuff in a bag and whisk out the door without so much as a goodbye to either Darry or Pony.

Neither of them bother to try and convince you to stay. Pony knows you aren't happy, and Darry...well, he'd rather see you gone than sneaking back into the house one more time before he'd throw you out himself. You've saved him the fake heartache of doing so by putting yourself out on the street...

...but it's somewhere you'd never thought you'd be.

It's dark and cold and raining; nearly ten o'clock, if you had to guess. You're freezing and wet and huddled under the awning of a business store, trying to keep warm. You're tired and just want to sleep; but you keep yourself awake by staring at the street light down the road, because you know that if you fall asleep you'll either be mugged or never wake up again.

Sometimes, you wish you'd never wake up.

 **. . . .**

You're 16 years old when you leave Tulsa.

You just hop on a plane and leave. You don't tell anyone where you're going or where you'll end up; you're not even sure yourself. You don't bother saying goodbye to anyone; all in all, they're all probably glad you're leaving.

You haven't spoken to any of the gang in two years; all of them have been reclusive of you ever since you moved out of the house. They don't call you; they don't write to you; they don't do anything but act as if you were never there.

You don't shed one damn tear for them as you watch Tulsa grow smaller and smaller on that goddamn plane.

You shed one tear - one, simple tear - for the one person you wish you wouldn't have left.

 _Claudia._

 **. . . . .**

You send postcards to everyone; to Pony, to Steve, to Darry, even. You send the entire gang postcards from where you now live in upstate New Jersey because you feel it's the right thing to do.

You even send one to Claudia, just for the hell of it.

None of the gang ever reply; not like you'd expect them to, anyway. To them, you've been washed up for years now and threw your home and your family away all for some girl. You feel like Pony will when he's out on his own and away of Darry's watchful eye; but even that is a long shot to wish for.

Over all the years that you've sent them letters, postcards, and even money, you still only get only one reply.

And you're glad it's hers.

 **. . . . . .**

You should be twenty when you return to Tulsa; and you are, but you're also sixteen.

You haven't walked these streets or turned down these corners in ages; still, you travel them as if you never left. You stop at the places you once knew and admire them, whether they're made into something new or just barely managing to stand on their own.

As you stand there, admiring the spot where you happened to be laying just a short four years ago, you hear footsteps coming up behind you and whirl around.

Your younger brother, Ponyboy, stands before you. He's a lot older in the face and body now, but still young in the eyes; as are you.

The two of you don't say anything. You just nod to him, and him to you. No words are exchanged; there's nothing to be said.

He places a hand on your shoulder, closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, the message is clear:

 _Get out of here and don't come back._

So that's what you do. You leave Pony behind and run; run like you did all those years ago.

But you don't run to an airport; you run to an apartment building and storm up the stairs to the fourth floor, where you hope she's still here, alive and waiting for you.

 **. . . . . . .**

When you knock on the door, your heart accelerates. Your palms grow sweaty, your breathing spikes to a new high and you feel like you could pass out.

"Soda? Is that you?"

You blink and see Claudia standing there, in her ragtag outfit of an old, musty t-shirt, clad jeans and ragged old sneakers. She doesn't look older; in fact, she looks younger. She looks the same as you last saw her - that night at her old apartment where you didn't have sex.

There's silence. Cold and twisted, it whirls and weaves around the two of you like a snake.

"I..." she trails off, her eyes not once getting the least bit smaller, "I...haven't seen you around for a while."

You nod, not saying anything. In all honesty, there's so much you could say to her, yet you don't know how to say it.

"You doing okay?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "How've you been?"

When you don't answer, she moves towards you. You start to move away, afraid of being near her, but she grabs onto your jacket sleeve and holds it in her hand until you're nearly eye-to-eye. Her eyes dart around your face, clearly taking in how much you've changed over the four short years you've been gone; how much older you seem and how much wiser you've become.

"I - I'm just gonna -" you start to make your way towards the door, but she quickly tugs on your shoulder and makes you face her again.

"I want you to stay..." she murmurs, her blue eyes - the blue eyes you never thought you'd see again - filling with tears.

"I know you do," you say, and you feel your heart break with each word. "But you never _needed_ me to stay."

"Don't leave me again, Soda... I can't lose you again."

You force a sad smile, a tear - a real, sad and dreaded tear - rolling down your cheek.

"You already have."

 **. . . . . . . .**

You fall back into the same pattern; leaving, staying, leaving, staying...you leave and stay everywhere else and anywhere else other than where you really want to go.

 _Home._

 **. . . . . . . . .**

You return to Tulsa at the age of twenty-two, when Two-Bit's father – someone you never knew personally, only by the stories Two-Bit would tell you – passes from a car accident.

You stand outside the window of the funeral home, watching as some people dab at their eyes with Kleenex's and others wipe their noses on their sleeves. You make no move to go inside; you're positive that you're better off out here, watching from the small distance that you are.

You duck as people begin to move, but grudgingly catch eyes with Darry right as you raise your head again once you thought everyone had gone. You struggle to get to your feet and find a place to escape to, but your foot catches on a plant root and you fall just as you're about to make a run for it.

Shadows pass over you as Darry, Steve, and Pony stand in the way of the sun. Suddenly, you're on your feet and embraced by your former best friend as well as the youngest of your brothers. Darry makes no move to hug you; you make no move to hug him.

But the more that Pony and Steve hug you, the more enraged you become. You quickly shove them off of you and turn your back to them, not saying anything.

As you begin to walk away, you hear Pony calling your name, but you don't look back.

 **. . . . . . . . . .**

You don't leave Tulsa this time.

At least, not yet.

There's still one person you have to see; one person you have to make things right with before you go off and leave again.

So you climb your way to Claudia's apartment and knock on the door again. She opens it quickly, her face bright and smiling, as if she was waiting for you. Her smile fades and her gaze softens at the sight of you, however, and it makes you rethink that entire feeling of excitement that fizzed in your chest just a moment ago.

"Soda?" she asks, with just the largest bit of hostility in her voice. "What are you doing here?"

You don't respond; you just shove past her into her apartment and ask her to close the door. She does as you ask, surprisingly, before the silence falls between you on the sound of the door clicking shut.

She stands there, leaning against the door frame, not the slightest bit happy to see you. "What do you want?" she asks.

You don't answer; your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at the ground, scuffing your old shoe against the wooden floor.

Her sigh is enough to let you know that she's gotten softer; her footsteps are light and delicate across the floor, a pitter-patter sound echoing off the walls as she nears you. You feel the urge to move away - to run, even – but you don't. You simply allow her to get close to you, because you feel it'll never happen again.

"Are you going to leave again?"

It's a simple question; one that she's – everyone's – been asking for a while now.

"I have to. You know I have to."

It's then that her eyes light up; they burst with a fire of sadness.

"You don't have to…" her hands reach out to bring your eyes to hers and they remain there, holding your face so delicately, so calm-like, that you feel tears well in your own eyes.

Despite your pride, you don't move to brush the tears away as they start to fall. They fall and they fall and they fall, a small cry coming from somewhere inside you as Claudia whispers your name almost sorrowfully and pulls you close.

"Oh, Soda..." you hear her breathe your name at your ear. "What happened to you?" Her voice is soft, almost like a mothers would be when she comforted her child.

A comforting silence falls between you both. You simply stand there as the two of you sway back and forth in the others arms, and that's when you realize that her arms have felt more like home than anyone else's ever have.  
 **. . . . . . . . . . .**

Time passes; how much, you've got no clue. You just know that you've been here for what feels like an eternity – almost as if you never left.

You've laughed with her; you've cried with her; you've been here with her, feeling like you're on top of the world. The room is dark, the only light being the fire that shines upon Claudia's face as she looks at you. In this moment, you see just how pained she really is; how long she's been waiting for you to come back only to watch you leave again.

But it's always been you; it'll always be you.

It's then, as you stare into her dark blue eyes that you truly see pain for what it really is.

"Don't leave me."

She's been saying that all night; over and over again. She's hoping you'll tell her that you won't leave – that you'll stay here with her – just like she's always wanted. Just like _you've_ always wanted.

"I have to."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do, Claudia... I can't stay." You mentally kick yourself in the gut.

"Why not?" she demands, a flash of anger sparking in her eyes. "Why can't you stay, Soda – why can't you stop running?"

You offer her a sad smile.

"Running is what I do best."

 **. . . . . . . . . . . .**

For a long while, nothing happens. You haven't left; she hasn't kicked you out. It's just like old times – the times you wish you could go back to.

Then, suddenly, an explosion of feelings – sad, happy, regretful, fearful – rush through you. It's then, in this large heatwave of emotions, that you kiss Claudia in a way neither of you expected.

It's slow at first; neither of you know what to do in this moment. You're quick to take control, though, and continue to kiss her with a fire burning in your chest, scraping and clawing your lungs so that you're gasping for air – her air.

And maybe this kiss led to your clothes being ripped from your body; maybe it didn't.

And maybe you two make love that night; maybe you don't.

All you know is that you've waited your entire life for this moment. You've waited so many years to finally call her yours – for her to call you hers.

With your fist thrust in the air in victory, you finally claim her for what she truly is:

A person so beautiful, so perfectly imperfect, that she completes you. She makes you whole – she's something that you don't deserve after all you've put her through, but the fact that she waited for you then and was waiting for you now only makes it that more definite.

They say that nothing good ever happens after 2:00 AM. But she's your 2:00 AM and every moment in between.

 **. . . . . . . . . . . . .**

You leave her then; you leave her in her apartment like a coward.

You hate yourself for doing that to her yet again; again and again and again... it's an endless cycle – one that you're afraid you'll never get out of.

For a long time, you just walk. You have no destination; you don't want to have a destination. You just want to leave; to flee Tulsa like you have been and never return.

But in the end, you know you'll always come back.

And it's not for the hospitality you seem to have gained since you were last here. It's not because of the people or the places or the weather or anything like that. It's not about your family; not even the gang.

It's for her – you'll always come back for her.

 **. . . . . . . . . . . . .**

 **This is how it should end.**

A boy, a girl, and a happily ever after.

It's oh, so simple – but it's oh, so complicated.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, with the lack of updates on Insanity, I've decided to write another one-shot. This time, it's from Claudia's point of view.**

 **The title is taken from the song To Build a Home by The Cinematic Orchestra.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _This is how it should end – a boy, a girl, and a happily ever after._

 _It's oh, so simple – but it's oh, so complicated._

 ** _._**

It's no surprise that when you wake, the bedsheets are completely ridden of the man that slept beside you just a few hours ago.

You wish he would've stayed; you wish he would've continued to lay beside you, his arms wrapped delicately around your waist as he hums softly in your ear, trying to get you to sleep. Soda could always get you to sleep; he could get you to do anything, really.

Again and again, he gets you to wait for him; and again and again, you do.

 **. .**

It's been four years since you've stepped into this bar. Four years since you met Soda here; four years since you've held a drink in your delicate hands.

But seeing it now, torn down and lost and abandoned almost like you, you can't help but get teary eyed at the sight of that goddamn piano that still sits in that back room. It calls to you – almost as if it were Soda himself; now here you are, back at the place you don't want to forget yet don't want to remember, either. There's a lot of joy behind those keys; a lot of pain, too.

Your hands tremble as you settle yourself into the seat; the familiar old black seat, whose cracked and worn edges feel like home to you. Dust has accumulated all over the piano; a thick layer of gray masks your hand as you sweep it across the fall board, feeling as if you're looking in a mirror. Something so old and so cracked is yet so beautiful; as are you, despite all of your imperfections and flaws... Soda still sees you as beautiful.

Your heart jolts with sorrow as you remember him, sitting here beside you four years ago. His warmth seems to spread over your body, as if time had backtracked and has taken you to that moment; that moment in time where everything seemed to fall into place. That moment in time where everything made sense; even you, even him. You both made sense to one another – and you swear that's what love is.

 **. . .**

You don't move for a long while. You sit there, your hand still a canvas of gray, your heart still pounding in your chest.

Then, like the will of God himself has been shoved inside of you, you open the fall board and begin to play.

It's a soft song; something that you didn't expect. The chords seem to sing, exploding around the room and giving it life once more. The melody, once soft and quiet, is now booming and ricocheting off of every board, every painting and every banner around you. Suddenly, you're crying and you're screaming and you're letting every hellfire that has ever burned your soul seep out of you in the form of every keystroke; every note; every heartbeat.

It's music you're making; and hell, it's your soul.

The slow ring of the final chord echoes through the empty halls, through the doors and out into the open world. Tears have stained the white keys, but you don't move to wipe them off. You allow yourself to sit there in that silence, feeling as if your heart has just leaped from your chest and had a therapy session with you, explaining all of its aches and pains and joys and people you love.

A small clap emits from the other side of the wall. A rush of panic sets in, making you jump to your feet and stare hard at the blackness, squinting and trying to get a better look as to who's there. The clapping continues as the person steps out into the light, and at once your breath is caught in your throat.

"I heard you playing," Soda says, a smile creasing his face, "and I heard you scream and cry and curse God for me leaving you so many times." Sincerity is burning in his eyes as he continues, stuffing his hands in his jeans and raising his head in pride. "I swear to you, Claudia, that I won't leave again."

"You've said that before," you growl, though your heart is bursting with affection though your mind seethes with rage, "and look what happened."

"I love you, Claudia." Soda says, his voice cracking as tears start to drip down his face. "I really, really love you... I miss you. Come back to me – be my risk that I'll never stop taking."

Sauntering towards him slowly, you narrow your eyes on him. "Sodapop Patrick Curtis," you purr as his hands slip around your waist and pull you close, his forehead pressing against yours, "...how I've missed you."

 **. . . .**

A full two years and seven days after that night, you become Mrs. Sodapop Curtis. No one in the gang, who've recently begun talking to Soda again, knows. Soda's brothers don't know; your family doesn't know, nor would they care. Hell, neither of you care what they think – you're happy, he's happy, and that's all that matters. You're sure of it.

But you could've never been more wrong.

 **. . . . .**

You don't remember dying. In fact, you don't even remember getting sick. You just remember being here, happy with Soda, and then falling asleep and being on the other side the next.

It's not the sad or grieving memories you remember; it's the memories you made, alive and happy and with Soda, that you remember.

You do, however, remember the fact that you were dying; that you were going to leave Soda here, alone, without anyone or anything in this room to steady him and keep him grounded after you're gone.

"I don't want you to go, Claud." those are the first words out of his mouth. You snort and smile weakly, resting your eyes on top of his.

"Now you know how it feels."

He smiles through his tears; and even though the smile is brief before it, and he, cracks and withers to a sobbing mess, it makes your heart warm.

He starts to pace, one hand stuffed into his jeans pocket and the other scratching the back of his neck. Even as tears continue to rain down his face, getting on his red plaid shirt and streaking the dark gray t-shirt underneath even darker, he doesn't move to wipe them away.

"Come here," you say through the noises of him sniffling and the beeping of your oxygen machine. He stops and looks at you; a look of pity streaks through his dark brown eyes, but love overpowers it almost immediately. He crosses the room and gets on his knees so that he's bed-level height, staring at you with wide, child-like eyes.

You both know the time is nearing. You can feel your body shutting down, and though he can't feel it, he sees it in your dimming eyes; in your shallow breathing, and even in your trembling lips as tears begin to fall.

Soda immediately takes your face in his hands, frantically looking at you. "Shh, baby, stop," he whispers, trying to soothe you as well as himself. "You're okay. Everything's gonna be okay..."

He's lying. You know it; he knows it. He's lying to try and save you; he's lying to try and save himself.

The bed creaks under his weight as he crawls into it, putting your sobbing body into his lap. He rocks you back and forth, almost as you're a baby, shushing your cries as he does. "You're okay," he murmurs, his voice cracking and slipping, "you're okay..."

And then, as your cries dim to nothing but whimpers and the shedding of tears, he starts to recite the vows he made to you.

"I promise to always love you; in sickness, health, and all that other stuff that marriage is supposed to be about. My love for you, Claudia, will never die; it'll always be there with me as long as my heart continues to beat. I promise to forgive you; for when you piss me off, to when I piss you off, and for every little thing in between. I promise to never let you forget that you're loved and cherished; you have always been loved – always. And most of all, so help me God, I promise to never let you forget how much you mean to me. You were my risk worth taking; and goddamn it, am I glad that you are always going to be."

He presses his lips to your forehead as you cling to him, afraid to fall into the arms that await you. Death has never scared you; but now, as it beckons your soul with everything it has, it terrifies you.

As you settle into his arms and prepare yourself for the worst, your eyes focus on the ring on your finger. It's a soft gold color, with a small diamond in the middle. There's nothing special about it from the naked eye; and no matter how hard people look, there will never be anything special about it to them. It'll always be special to you, though, because it's the one piece of jewelry that matters to you; it's the one piece of someone that you'll always have.

 **. . . . . .**

You fell in love with him at a bar. Definitely not the most romantic place, but it was _your_ place.

You can easily remember the way he laughed that night; how he looked – clearly drunk and blinded by something troubling. You can easily smile at how he looked at you – like you were some goddess and he was a posh little boy in need of love.

You gave him love, all right; and in return, he left you again and again.

But he always came back for you – not for family or friends.

For you. And that's as much love as you've – he's – ever gotten in a long time.


End file.
